


What Happens in the Cloakroom...

by sdk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas, Frotting, Hand Jobs, Holiday, Implied Ron/Pansy, M/M, New Years, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, implied Hermione/Ginny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/pseuds/sdk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Two characters think the punch is spiked and find themselves in a clinch in the cloakroom. Of course, it was all them and their mutual LUST not the drink that made them do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Torino10154 for the inspiration!

Dim light spilled into the cloakroom as Harry tumbled inside with a fistful of his companion’s robes. The ruckus of the party faded to a dull roar as the door snicked shut behind them, but Harry wasn’t paying any attention as he was soon shoved up against said door, a thigh jammed between his two with the unmistakable pressure of a cock rutting against his leg. Lips slid down down his neck and he tangled his fingers into impossibly-soft blond hair, closed his eyes and rocked his hips, finally finding enough friction to temper the ache burning low in his belly. 

He was going to murder Seamus. Murder him or possibly buy him the finest bottle of firewhisky he could find, Harry wasn’t sure which. Harry hadn’t set out to drink that night, though he’d desperately wanted to as it was the most boring Yule Ball the Ministry had put on yet. But Harry had to work early in the morning, and hangover potion or no hangover potion, he just wasn’t as sharp as he liked after a night on the sauce. So he’d stuck with the Ministry’s Holiday Punch, and the only thing that explained why his head was swimming, why his gaze had followed Malfoy from the moment he’d arrived until he’d asked Harry to dance--as a joke, Harry had been sure--why his hands hand been unable to stop roaming over Malfoy’s back, why with just the slightest hint of Malfoy’s breath on his cheek made his knees weak and his cock rock hard in under five seconds--the only rational explanation for all of these things was that someone had spiked the punch. And that someone most definitely was Seamus Finnigan, evil purveyor of spirits and someone Harry was definitely going to hex.

Or possibly get down on his knees and thank, as Malfoy was currently heading toward that position, his fingers ripping open Harry’s flies, his grey eyes gleaming in the darkened room. 

“Oh fuck me,” Harry whispered without realising it. His cock sprang free, the head brushing against Malfoy’s pink lips, before Malfoy’s tongue snaked out and he gave Harry a teasing lick. 

“Maybe later,” Malfoy said. He turned his head, rubbing Harry’s cock against his cheek, catching the crown on the corner of his lips. “First, I want to gag on your cock.”

 _Seamus--a whole case of top-shelf for you,_ was Harry’s last coherent thought before he lost himself in Malfoy’s mouth.

~

“Good Morning Harry,” Hermione said absently as he joined her on the lift. Her head was stuck in an open file, but she finally looked up at him as the car swung back and begin to rise. She opened her mouth, closed it, peered at him, then smiled. 

“Something on your mind?”

“You look different.”

“Bad different or just...?”

“No no no, good different.” She studied him again, cocking her head to one side. 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit creepy?”

“You look good, Harry,” Hermione said as if Harry hadn’t spoken at all. “Rested. But something...” She shook her head, then buried herself in her notes once more. 

“Amazing, isn’t it? I got completely pissed last night.” Harry had set out a hangover potion on his nightstand before he’d passed out the night before, but when he woke, he’d felt right as rain--none of the normal ill-effects from too much drink. Just a fluke; it was too bad he wasn’t always so lucky.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and he half expected an admonishment for his language, but she paused mid-word and her brows knit together again. “I thought you only had the punch? Did you drink after? Ron was looking for you--you disappeared half-way through.”

“The punch was spiked, had to be. Seamus did it, yeah? Surely you noticed.”

Hermione shook her head and a small smile came to her lips. “No, he tried, but I vanished his flask before he had the chance. He wasn’t exactly pleased with me, but some of us needed to work in the morning.”

Harry was just imagining how ‘not-pleased’ Seamus probably still was, when his brain did a double-take and he grabbed Hermione’s arm, causing her file of parchment to spill onto the floor. 

“Wait--the punch wasn’t spiked?”

“Harry--yes, that’s what I said.” She slipped out his grip and _Accio_ ’d her parchment back to its rightful place with a frown. “Honestly, if it had been, you’d be a right terror this morning. Hangover potions never really work for you, not really. I wonder if it’s some kind of interaction with your magic and if you had one more tailor-made, it would work better, rather than just the generic--it would be a fascinating study--in the abstract.”

Hermione nattered on, but Harry didn’t hear a word of it. He’d been so sure...there was no other reason for completely losing himself--not with Draco Malfoy of all Wizards. 

If he was being truthful with himself, Harry hadn’t been altogether indifferent to Malfoy’s charms a few years on from school. He’d grown into his features, where once his face was too sharp, and his body too thin, his skin almost sickly pale--especially in 6th year--now he was nicely angular, still thin but obviously strong and his skin while still just a shade off of white, had a healthy glow about it. Especially when his face was flush with exertion and his mouth open and panting, his skin all slick with sweat and his cock hard but velvety smooth and it fit so well within Harry’s curled fingers. 

“Not that I want to spend my free time helping you find a better way to get drunk without consequences, of course, but I do wonder--oh Harry, it’s your floor.” She nudged him with an elbow and he smiled sheepishly in apology. She tutted, but gave him a gentle shove through the open doors. 

“Next time, just change the subject. I don’t particularly enjoy prattling on to myself.”

“Uh huh.” Harry nodded, though they both knew her words weren’t true. He gave her a little wave as the lift doors closed, but then his brain was back to Draco Malfoy once more. 

_As if it ever really left,_ an evil voice inside Harry’s mind whispered, sounding suspiciously like the wanker himself.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has much better taste in shag fantasies than a man who doesn't see fit to run a comb through his hair. Or so he tells himself.

“He’s watching you,” Pansy said as she slipped her arm through Draco’s and led him around the the outskirts of the ballroom. Pansy had twisted his arm in coming here in the first place, saying that they both needed to mingle with the upper echelon of the Ministry for the sake of the business (though Draco doubted that was her only motivation). Draco would have been perfectly content to stay in his workroom with his research and his cauldrons, but she’d made a fuss until he’d given in. Anything was worth getting her to shut it sometimes; unfortunately, Pansy was all too aware of his weakness when it came to her whinging. 

“Who?” 

“Oh you know very well who. The Boy Wonder. The Chosen One. The main attraction of your wank fantasies since you were fourteen, that’s who.”

“Shut it, Pansy,” Draco hissed. He glanced around to make sure no one had overheard her little comment. Not that it was true in the least. Draco had much better taste in shag fantasies than a man who didn’t see fit to even run a comb through his hair. 

Still, he felt Potter’s gaze keenly as she led him into a conversation with a group of mid-level managers from some department or another, Draco didn’t quite catch. And if he happened to cheat out so his good side was always in Potter’s direction, stand a bit straighter, and laugh a bit too hard at an old balding Wizard’s cauldron thickness joke, that was merely a coincidence. It didn’t have anything to do with Potter at all.

~

Potter kisses down Draco’s neck, teeth scraping over skin, tongue darting out in soothing flicks until he reaches Draco’s pulse point and sucks until Draco thinks his legs might give out under him. Potter’s hands frantically paw at Draco’s robes, ripping them apart and Draco wants to tell him to slow down--they have time--just as much as he yearns for Potter to free his cock already and let him come. He tangles his fingers into thick black hair, softer than he ever thought it could be, and can’t muffle his moan when Harry finally finds the place Draco most desperately needs to be touched. 

His palm is sweaty and soon slick with Draco’s pre-come as he starts stroking, steady and sure. Draco’s hips instinctually follow Potter’s rhythm, and Potter’s lips work their magic again, sliding up the column of Draco’s neck, kissing down the angle of his jaw. Draco’s mouth falls open. He feels his impending orgasm from the tip of his toes all the way up through his chest and he comes with a gasp, covering Potter’s fingers in white. 

~

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he sat straight up, breath coming in fits and starts. His heart pounded in his chest, and it took him a moment to realize where he was. Fingers curled into silken sheets, the dim light of the moon filtered through his window, and finally he was able to let out a long steadying breath. He was at home, in bed. It was a dream. Just a dream. 

It was however a dream that closely mirrored real events. It was the third time he’d had it that week. The other nights, his brain took a more fictional route, but the starring role always belonged to the same man. 

Potter. Harry bloody Potter. 

Draco balled his sheets up in his fists. It was unlikely he would be able to sleep again tonight. Not unless he wanted to relive that night again. 

And no, he definitely did not want to. It had been a terrible mistake, brought on by too much punch--which was most definitely spiked despite whatever Pansy might have claimed the next day. What did she know anyhow? She had been too busy throwing herself at a _Weasley_ of all people; she had likely been just as infected as Draco. 

Draco threw off the rest of the covers and slipped out of bed. He would just go to work, that’s what he would do. And maybe while he was at it, he could develop a potion to keep unwanted fantasies at bay. Especially about bespectacled messy-haired gits.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco collide. And then they collide again.

Harry’s eyes skimmed over the enormous ballroom. He told himself he wasn’t looking for anything--or anyone--in particular, but his gaze did pause each time he fell upon blond hair. 

_Not blond enough....too old...eugh no._

“Harry?”

A poke to his arm brought him back around to his companion for the night. Her eyes were sparkling in mischief. 

“Looking for someone in particular?” Hermione sad. Harry quickly shook his head no. 

“More punch,” he said, though his goblet was half full. He drained it in one swallow and excused himself with a mumble. 

As he was weaving through the dance floor, his eyes still scanning, though he assured himself he was just being _observant_ , practicing his Auror training to keep his skills sharp, a warm body collided with his own. 

“Oh god, sorry--oh hey, Malfoy--Draco.” 

Draco was even more stunning now that Harry could study him close-up, his blond hair falling elegantly over one eye as he straightened. Harry’s fingers itched to push it back, perhaps tuck it behind one ear, maybe let his thumb linger and stroke the line of his cheek. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “We should probably move. Unless we plan to start dancing,” he said, gesturing to where they stood still in the midst of several waltzing couples. 

“Is that an invitation?” The words had come without thought, but Draco’s eyes widened slightly, a faint pink blooming over his cheeks, and Harry just couldn’t seem to regret his momentary loss of proper brain function. 

“Right.” Draco laughed, just for a moment, but it was the first time Harry’s heard him do so without the harsh edge of mocking. “Like you’d really dance with me in front of your friends--everyone.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” A nervous energy raced through his veins, but Harry closed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around Draco’s waist. Draco’s grey eyes were flecked with blue, so faint Harry had never noticed before. Of course he’d never been this close to Draco before. Not face to face, chests pressed together; he swore he could feel Draco’s heart pounding as fast as his own. 

Draco turned his head, breath ghosting over Harry’s cheek and Harry shuddered.

“Just don’t step on my feet, Potter,” Draco said, but there was no bite to his words. And slowly, they begin to move.

~

While not as busy as the pre-Christmas rush, Diagon Alley was still filled to the brim with shoppers taking advantage of the post-holiday sales and children still on their break from Hogwarts dashing through the streets. Draco snuggled down into his scarf and weaved in and out of the throng, thinking it might have been a better idea to owl-order his supplies no matter how much longer it would have taken, when he found himself smack against a hard chest. It was an oddly familiar feeling. 

He looked up to apologize and dart around the man, and found himself face to face with Harry Potter. Again. 

"Hi," Potter said. He was wearing a ridiculously ugly jumper with a large loopy H etched in gold thread, and yet still the wanker had the audacity to look good. Cheeks flushed with cold, eyes bright with his smile and even his unruly mop of hair looked merely nicely tousled. "I suppose the option of a dance isn't appropriate this time, is it?"

"I'm sorry?" Draco feigned innocent, but he remembered that moment as if it were etched in his memory as deeply as that stupid "H". 

"You know--the other night, at the party, you-"

"Yes, that's right," Draco said. He took a breath, then two, and Potter was still just standing there, staring at him.

"Well," he said. "I should-"

"Right," Potter replied, though he didn't move. Draco side-stepped him and in an instant, Potter reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait-"

Draco paused, turned, looked down at where Harry gripped his outer robe and back into Harry's eyes. No, Potter. _Potter's_ eyes. Potter released him with a sheepish smile. 

"Sorry," he said. "It's just...I've been meaning to owl you."

"Owl me? Whatever for?"

"You know...because of that night. What happened. I-"

Draco coloured red. He'd rather hoped Potter had forgotten all of the messy details in the haze of alcohol, but clearly that was not the case. "No need. We were both drunk. Our judgement was not exactly up to snuff."

"Oh..." Potter looked like a kicked puppy and for a moment, only a brief moment, Draco regretted his words. "Well. If it makes a difference. I wasn't drunk. Strictly punch for me, but...if you-"

"Yes, Potter, but the punch was spiked. Surely you've realised."

There was a light of hope that entered Potter's eyes. Draco found it distracting. "So you only had the punch as well?"

"Yes, but...what does that matter?"

"Nothing." Potter's lips were sliding to a smile again and Draco was growing increasingly unnerved. "You should come."

The heat that had flared and died on his cheeks only a moment ago was back with a vengeance and his mouth went dry. "What?"

"To the party. Gah, that was rubbish. I'm sorry. I only meant-" Potter was babbling, tripping over his words like a firstie. It was oddly adorable. "I wanted to invite you to the New Years' Party. At my flat.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but inside his pulse was racing. It was quite annoying, and he told himself to calm down. It wasn’t as if there was anything special about being invited to a party, no doubt at some dismal hovel Potter called his home. 

“Parkin--I mean, Pansy’s coming. You know, she and-”

“Yes.” Draco’s lips pursed before he could help it. Pansy and Weasley had been ‘an item’ since that dreadful Yule Ball, and Draco had been forced to spell his ears closed several times in order to spare himself all of the gory details. Pansy did like to share a bit too much. “I had no idea she had such dismal taste.”

“Come on, wasn’t she mad about you in school? Her taste can’t be that bad.”

Potter’s eyes were sparkling. Draco did his best to ignore how his stomach jumped at Potter’s words. 

“Yes, well...I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Potter said. He reached out and squeezed Draco’s arm, and somehow Draco couldn’t manage to pull himself away.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter smiled and something warm uncurled in Draco’s stomach. He was sure it was just the alcohol.

The party was in full swing by the time Draco arrived, fashionably late of course. He shifted his bottle of wine--a host gift, as any good guest would never arrive empty handed--and shrugged off his cloak and scarf, hanging them on a nearby hook. Pansy extracted herself from Weasley’s lap and glided over, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors. 

“I knew you’d come,” she said, kissing his cheek. He could smell alcohol on her breath; clearly she’d been here for some time already. 

“I need a drink,” he replied. Potter appeared out of nowhere then, fingers curled around a glass of brown liquid. The ice clanked together as he extended his hand.

“Whisky. I’ve got Champagne too, and butterbeer if you want--I can get you something else, oh...you brought wine?”

Draco accepted the glass, ignoring how his skin tingled when his fingers brushed over Potter’s. He downed half of it in one go. 

“Yes, here,” Draco said once he’d swallowed. Potter’s lips turned up at the corners as he took the bottle. “It’s not for now. Just...it’s a dessert wine. Best with chocolate, but I suppose you could drink it with any pudding.” Draco wasn’t sure why he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth from moving and spitting out the most ridiculous things. He took another large swallow of whisky. 

“Thanks...I’ll save it. For something special.” Potter smiled softly and something warm uncurled in Draco’s stomach. He was sure it was just the alcohol. 

“Harry--can you help me? I think I’m a bit short-” A voice called from the kitchen--Granger’s, Draco thought. Potter gave an apologetic shrug and excused himself, and Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

He glanced around Potter’s flat and was surprised at the decor. He’d anticipated some kind of gaudy Gryffindor monstrosity, with gold statues of lions and plushy couches of the deepest red. It was a rather ridiculous assumption--it wasn’t if Draco’s house was covered in silver serpents either--but regardless, he hadn’t expected _this_. It was comfortable, with plenty of cozy furniture in shades of blue and grey, the walls light and painted in the same palate. The place was filled with pictures, some lining the mantle, two or three on each end table and a whole sideboard covered with them. 

Draco took up residence in a corner, adjusted his robes and tried not to feel like he was vastly out of place. He was saved from his awkward shuffling by an older Weasley he didn’t recognise (he assumed the family association from the hair alone). They stuck to safe topics like the weather and the latest Quidditch stats, but the conversation soon dried up and Draco found himself alone again. 

He peered around the room. As it got closer to midnight, he could see most guests coupling off. Pansy was back on Ron’s lap, giggling about something or other; he’d wondered how Granger faired with this new development, but saw her cuddling with the Weaslette on the sofa opposite. He supposed she must have not been too upset then.

Draco emptied his drink, and finally spying a means of escape, decided he could do with some air.

~

Harry watched Draco edge around the outskirts of his other guests and disappear through his balcony doors. He took a deep breath, grabbed a pair of champagne flutes, and followed a few moments later. He lingered in the doorway, Draco not having sensed him yet, and just watched the moonlight fall over Draco’s features. Draco was tense, Harry guessed with the way Draco’s lips were tight at the corners, his shoulders and back stiff. There was nothing Harry wanted more at that moment than to just slide up behind him, squeeze his shoulders, then wrap his arms around Draco’s waist until Draco relaxed in his embrace. 

_Too soon for that,_ he thought. Harry was more likely to be met with Champagne thrown in his face, so instead he coughed to announce his presence, and when Draco didn’t object, walked over to his side. 

“Here,” Harry said, setting a flute on the railing where Draco stood. “Thought you might want some. For midnight.”

“Right.” Draco nodded. He curled his fingers around the glass, but otherwise didn’t move. “Trying to get me drunk, Potter?”

“Maybe.” Harry offered a smile. Draco’s eyes flicked to his lips and Harry allowed himself to hope. “You mind if I stay. It’s getting a bit...”

“Coupley in there?” Draco finished with a slant to his lips. 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted with a shrug, though he found his mouth just wouldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t realise he was outright staring until Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“What? Do I have something-”

“No, no-” Harry waved Draco’s concern off, a slight heat flushing his cheeks. “I’m just-” Harry paused for a breath, then scraped his teeth over his lower lip--a bad habit he’d developed when he was particularly nervous about something. He caught Draco’s eyes darting to his mouth again, and that bolstered Harry’s courage. 

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“So you’re not the only sad wanker without a date on New Years?” Draco snorted. Harry shook his head. He set his flute down next to Draco’s and hesitantly brushed his fingers over Draco’s arm. When Draco didn’t pull away, Harry slid his hand down and skimmed his thumb over Draco’s knuckles. Draco’s breath sped up; Harry inched closer. 

“Was hoping--” The words tangled themselves on his tongue and Harry took another deep breath and tried to calm his racing heartbeat. “I was hoping you’d be my date.”

Draco’s eyes widened. Harry spied the flecks of blue dotting the grey of Draco’s eyes he’d admired so many nights ago at that fateful Yule Ball. He gave Draco as much opportunity to turn his head or pull away as Harry’s patience would allow, and when he didn’t, Harry leaned over and kissed him.

Draco’s lips were cold, but soft, and parted easily under Harry’s. He tasted like whisky and groaned into Harry’s mouth when Harry darted his tongue out to chase the flavor. A jolt went down Harry’s spine and suddenly his hands were everywhere, pulling at Draco’s robes, sliding beneath fabric to seek out the heat of Draco’s skin. Draco’s fingers combed through Harry’s hair and they stumbled until Harry’s back hit the balcony doors. Harry broke their kiss with a gasp, and Draco started to pull away, but Harry grabbed his waist to keep him from escaping. 

“Potter-” Draco rasped. Harry could see the fear in his eyes, and he slid one hand up the curve of Draco’s back, hoping to soothe him. 

“Look...you can blame tonight on the alcohol if you want, but--don’t run away. You don’t really want to...do you?” 

Harry searched Draco’s eyes as they flicked this way and that, but were soon back, seemingly unable to resist Harry’s gaze. Draco’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips. Harry bit back a groan. 

“The punch wasn’t spiked that night, was it?” Draco finally whispered. Harry shook his head. He did his best to still his body, though he ached to yank Draco even closer and press their hips and thighs together, seek out Draco’s hardness with his own. But he waited, mouth dry, for Draco to decide what would happen next. 

Harry could hear the muffled sound of the party at his back and a strange sort of deja vu overcame him. But this time, they were counting backwards to one; it was almost midnight, and Harry knew exactly how he wanted to start off the new year. 

Draco’s mouth hovered closer. Harry curled his fingers into Draco’s skin, imagining round marks of red marring the pale.

“Your guests won’t mind if I steal you the rest of the evening, will they?” Draco’s breath ghosted over Harry’s lips. 

“No,” Harry murmured. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. Draco’s nose butted against his own and he caught a gleam in Draco’s eyes before his own fell closed. 

_Three....Two...One!_

“Happy New Year,” Draco whispered. Their mouths met again, just a teasing brush of lips until Harry tugged Draco into a deeper kiss. But Draco cut it off way too quickly and Harry couldn’t stifle his disappointed whine. 

Draco laughed, throaty and deep, head thrown back, his adam’s apple bobbing. Harry leaned forward and licked a wet stripe along his neck, effectively turning his laughter into a startled gasp. 

“I only stopped to ask you if perhaps you’d like to take this to your bedroom?” Draco said breathily. “You Gryffindors are so needy.”

“Shut it.” Harry said, though he answered with a cock of his head toward the other end of the balcony where a matching set of doors led into his bedroom. 

“Make me.” Draco tugged on Harry’s wrist and Harry spun him around instead, pining Draco against the wall with his hips. 

“You know they say you’re supposed to start the new year out the way you want to end it,” Harry said after a searing, but again too-short rough kiss. He grabbed both of Draco’s hands and pushed them over his head, delighting in the way Draco arched against him. 

“So you’re saying I have a whole year of fighting and fucking with you to look forward to?” Draco panted. He wiggled one hand free and grabbed a fistful of Harry’s hair, yanking him forward for another kiss. 

“Sounds good to me,” Harry managed to rasp before their lips crashed together. Draco turned the tables once more and somehow Harry was the one pinned against the wall, but he didn’t mind. Eventually, he figured they’d make it to his bedroom. But they had plenty of time for that now. Harry was done running away from this, and he knew Draco was too. 

It was a brand new year.


End file.
